BloodWashed - Chapter: 2

Chap 2.1

~WHERE'S NATTIE~2

River groaned and rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other hand searching the nightstand for the buzzing alarm clock, which she found, and slammed the snooze. She yawned again, sliding the alarm switch to off and rolled over grabbing the pillow that was there.
Sonia, who had also been woken up by the alarm, gave a yawn that ended in a whine and rolled over toward her human. She laid her head on warm human arm flesh and River ruffled her ears
“Hey, good morning beautiful…” River whispered before another yawn took over her mouth. “…where’s Nattie?”
Sonia just sighed, heavy, lazy, and noncommittal. River grinned a sleepy grin. “You don’t know either do ya…” and continued to pet and stroke Sonia’s fur. The dog stretched and settled even more, closing her ice-blue eyes.
River curled up pulling the white downy blanket over her shoulder and decided sleeping was the most important thing she had to do today. 3

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The woman heaved her right boot into the broken ribs of the man lying curled up on the cement floor; she grunted with the force behind the kick.
He shrieked with the pain, and tried to curl into a tighter ball as he wheezed and coughed blobby clots of black blood.
When the night had begun he had been stubborn as Lara whipped him. He hadn’t cried out at all then. Now in the morning light, lying in a puddle of his own blood, sweat, tears, and bits of flesh he was so far gone he didn’t register his own rasping screams.
The woman, Margo, laughed softly, eyes glittering with pleasure. As far as the torture had gone she had done little but watch, however she didn’t mind that. She liked to watch people get beaten down, especially a man like him. She spat at him.
It was the loyalties he held that made him hate-able, and it was her hate that made him little more than meat in her eyes.
Jim leaning against the far wall lit up a camel as he watched Lara clean the tools of her trade with the white towels she had brought with her. He imagined she picked white because they were easy to bleach.
The rain pounded against the outside of the building’s thin walls. On the far side of the room the roof had not been well preserved during this building’s long years of neglect, and rainwater had made a little pond where the floor descended slightly.
He looked at the bloody man in the center of the room; smoke fled from his mouth as he exhaled. “You gonna use salt?” He said this to Lara without looking at her, his tone smooth and casual.
These things didn’t bother him. During his time on Shawl’s payroll he’d seen many broken this way. Some were given worse than what this man had gotten, although Jim had to admit Lara made a better job of torment than any he’d ever seen. She was more practiced, more stylish, and elegant. There was a macabre beauty in her work, not just unrefined, morbid and violent gruesomeness.
Then again, she was considered a master in her craft, and as most cherished torturer of the Queen, she was bound to be the best at what she did.
Lara continued her cleaning aloofly. “No.” The word was heavy with her strange accent. She continued to settle everything back in its place within the shiny chrome case she had brought with her. “We go now.” She declared as she shut the lid and snapped the locks into place. She moved to the stool where her fur coat lay and tossed it over her shoulder.
Lara was a slender woman; a certain cold intelligence gazed out from two chilling steel grey eyes. Her strait black hair fell to the middle of her back, and it swayed as she made her way out of the room towards the delivery van they had all come in.
Margo grabbed up the stool and trotted after her.
Jim watched them leave, grinning around the cigarette as he watched Margo’s sweet little ass run out of the room. His eyes then turned to the man on the floor, and Jim pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on for the last two hours.
He knelt beside Hans Ulric, bowie knife drawn in his right hand; with his left he grabbed the rope that bound the man’s hands and feet. His knife made short work of the thick cord.
Hans groaned with the movement and Jim watched him just laying there a moment his breath unhealthily shallow. He looked mostly gone now, and Jim estimated Hans would be dead within the hour.
Jim’s face held a grim expression as he pulled the zip lock bag out of his jacket pocket. Sealed in the baggy was an envelope. He tossed it on top of Hans’ body; the plastic baggy clung to his bloody skin.
“Give my regards to Amael.” He watched what was left of the man, letting the filter and remaining ash of his cigarette fall to the floor before he stood and went to join the girls.5

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River awoke four hours later; Sonia was staring expectantly at her, sitting beside River on the bed.
River rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Potty?” She was answered with a yip and tail wagging.
“Okay, okay I’m getting up…” The dog bounded off the bed and out of the room. River yawned again. “…slave driver..” She made herself slither out of the comfy bed, silk sheets, and warm blankets to the back door.
Sonia met the muddy earth at a full run, and River closed the door with a yawn moving then into the TV room to sink into the over stuffed couch. She spotted the remote on the table beside the leather recliner, and decided she was going to be too lazy to go an get it.
Around fifteen minutes passed and she just stared out one of the big windows looking out to the mountains beyond. The skies were grey and looked pregnant with rain, River just stretched her arms above her head.
“Bring it on.” She yawned again and exhaled with gusto, hands landing limp at her sides. She looked around the room for a moment. “I wonder where the hell Nattie went…” After a moment she shrugged and stood up bending to stretch out her back. “Guess I’ll go do some work and wait for her…”
She walked to the staircase and headed upstairs.7